


Pocket

by xenowhore



Series: Jaks [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Jaks, M/M, Raks - Freeform, jace - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenowhore/pseuds/xenowhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s funny that I’m nervous. I know your answer as sure as I know the feel of you in the dark when I reach for you after a bad dream. And now, when I slap my hand over the light switch in the bedroom, I know you’re going to turn it back on and whisper that I’m beautiful. That you want to see all of me. And I’ll let you, because you’re the only one who ever has."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pocket

Doesn’t the old adage go; “Mama said there would be days like this?”. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I know that there’s a tiredness in my bones and an ache between my shoulders that only you can cure. I’m thinking about your hands on my skin on the way home and it takes all of my self control not to run the last two blocks to our place, but I manage.

Some things are made sweeter by the wait.

I’m not sure if it’s possible for you to be any sweeter than you already are, my love, but you always surprise me. In the years we’ve spent together I’ve learned that there is no such thing as routine. We are luckier than most couples in that we have managed to escape the mundane. That awful, creeping quietness that settles like a cloud over relationships. What was once excitement and passion becomes bills and appointments and arguments over whose turn it is to do dishes. With you it’s still new, and that’s a wonder, isn’t it? After all this time I never know what’s coming next.

I’m almost home now, and I’m imagining everything that I’m going to do to you when I get there. I know I said that I was tired but I haven’t found a malady yet to extinguish me - I’m insatiable, _we’re_ insatiable - and we’ll sleep when we’re dead, right? That’s what you tell me afterwards when we’re laying in sweat and cum and I’m listening to your heartbeat thudding in your ribcage. You run your fingers over the stubble on my scalp, trying to keep me awake. Five more minutes with me, just like this, you plead. When we’re warm and sated and our pulses haven’t yet slowed to normal. But I groan and laugh and nuzzle farther into your skin as though I could disappear inside of you forever, and in moments I’m asleep.

Sometimes I wonder how long you stay awake and what you do. If you watch me. A part of me likes imagining that you do, although you’d never admit to it. You know I’m always embarrassed by how I drool on the pillow and I know that you’d want to spare my feelings, even though it shouldn’t matter after this long. You’re too sweet, Raks, but don’t ever change.

I’m here now. Our little flat on the third story, stacked atop the others like the world's worst game of Jenga. I’ll never forget the way you looked up at it when we pulled up to the curb, the real estate agent standing there with her papers in her cheap suit. I saw the peeling paint, the crooked frame, the windows that screamed massive heating bill. But you smiled as you got out of the car and looked at it like a charming project. You saw potential because you see the good in everything.

After all, you saw the good in me.

I’d been pouting but you put your arm around my shoulder and squeezed, smiling at me. “We’ll make it ours, babe.” you’d said. And we had, in every room. I’ll never forget that either.

I’m shrugging my jacket off as I take the steps two at a time. Quiet as I turn the handle; I want to surprise you. I’m home earlier than usual tonight. Not a big crowd at The Polecat, and Ace could tell I was itching to get home anyway. He knows it's our anniversary, and you do too, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s just that I haven’t gotten a text saying so all day and that’s really unusual. But I’m not doubting you, so if you did it to make me think you forgot because you have something planned, you’re getting a spanking. 

Gollum greets me at the door and I pick him up before he starts his meowing. He’s so loud, but that could be my fault. I _do_ sing the ‘Kitty Nom-Nom Song’ every morning when I feed him, after all, despite your warnings that it would just make him even more vocal. He headbutts me in the chest and I stroke his suede skin. “Shh, buddy.” I whisper, kicking off my shoes and holding him against me as I walk down the hall.

I’m thankful that we haven’t yet had the carpet pulled up and replaced with hardwood as I tiptoe toward the kitchen. Though you wouldn’t hear me anyway - you’ve got the radio on. I can smell something amazing and my mouth starts to water. I should have known. This isn’t the smell of a regular meal, and before I round the corner I already know the tables going to be set fancy the way you like it. You lost it over that centerpiece with the birch wood and faux moss that we saw at Ikea the other week and something tells me it’s going to be there.

I step quietly into the kitchen and see you standing with your back to me. Gollum is still in my arms, thankfully quiet, as I lean against the door frame and watch you. Didn’t I say you were never predictable? You’re standing at the stove in just an apron and I have to bite down on my fist to stop my laughter. I _know_ that apron says “Kiss The Cock”. We found it during a lazy Sunday of online shopping and absolutely lost it in a fit of laughter. “Add to cart! Add to cart!” you’d managed, wiping away tears. Neither of us have worn it yet. Of course you would choose today to break it in.

You’re swaying to the music and I can feel my laughter ebbing away as I watch the line of your back. It was a scorcher today and the heat still lingers outside, baked into the pavement and the walls of the flat. I can see a trickle of sweat gathering in your lower back and I want to lick it away. You still haven’t noticed me in your peripheral vision and I’m glad, because watching you when you’re unaware is magic. There’s no hesitation or consciousness in your movements, nothing telling you that every twist of your hips and glide of your shoulders isn’t perfection. 

I almost don’t want you to notice me, but watching the flex of muscle under your skin as you stir whatever is in the frying pan makes me bite my lip.

I put Gollum down and he pads over to you, whisper soft, and winds himself around your legs. Finally you glance from the meal and that’s when you notice me. You jump, startled, and I almost feel bad but then you’re laughing and I’m just so happy that you didn’t forget. I walk over to you and gather you in my arms.

“You aren’t supposed to be home for another hour!” is the first thing you say as I nip at your neck. I know I’ve ruined your surprise dinner but I don’t care - you smell like body wash and rain and it’s you, it’s all you. I blow a raspberry on your neck and you smack me playfully with the spatula.

“Had to come see you.” I say sheepishly, pulling away and rubbing the back of my neck. I shrug and try to look cute, but you roll your eyes with a laugh. I can tell you love that I couldn’t wait the extra hour.

“Forget it, Mr.Puppy Eyes” you turn back to the food. “hope you’re not too hungry then. It’s not ready yet.” I look past you at the dinner table and sure enough, there’s the centerpiece. There’s even candles, and I can see a card in an envelope lying on my plate. My heart swells.

“You didn’t forget.” I say quietly. You pause in your movements and shake your head, the tiniest of smiles on your face. We both know you would never, but your plan worked. I want to be mad at you for stressing me out but this is just so romantic and that apron doesn’t cover much at _all_ and--

V8, you look good. I could care less about whatever concoction you’ve got going on as my eyes glide down your back and over your ass. You’re the cook in this house and the responsible one to boot - it’s thanks to you that you saved me from a life of mac and cheese and ramen. You’re always on me about eating healthy but I know as sure as I know the sun will rise tomorrow that this dinner will be going cold tonight.

“Well, I’m not hungry for _food.”_ I say slowly, a smile spreading over my lips. You look over your shoulder at me and try to look stern but I can tell you’re fighting a grin. I walk over and lean against the counter beside the stove, watching you. Trying to catch your eye. You’re good at this game and you adopt an expression of studied indifference as you flip and stir. I watch for a moment but I’m good at this game too, and I’m getting more impatient the longer I stand here smelling you and seeing flashes of your skin. “Nice apron.” I grin, and that’s when you laugh.

You put the spoon down and you’re pulling me against you, laughing against my mouth. I run my hands up and down your back restlessly, tracing the lines of your tattoo by memory. You tug gently on my hair when my hands stray too far and cup generous handfuls, squeezing.

“Jace!” you whine through giggles. “I wanted this to be special. Do you have any idea how many ingredients this bullshit required? I had to walk all the way to fifth. You _know_ I hate fifth.”

“It is special.” I murmur against your neck. “I love it, babe. I do.” I pull away and hold your face with my hands. “but there’s microwaves for a reason.” and I arch an eyebrow.

“You are such a shit.” you laugh. “this isn’t a meal to be microwaved!” but your protestations are cut short with a sharp gasp when my hands find what they were seeking. I watch your eyes flutter closed and you press yourself against me eagerly and it’s in that moment that we forget the food, the candles, everything. It’s how you always make me feel, Raks. Like the flat could burn to ash around us and all I would remember was the way you taste.

Ed Sheeran is crooning something about ripped jeans and pockets on the radio as we stumble down the hall toward the bedroom, me untying your apron strings as we laugh and navigate blindly around piles of laundry. You’re pulling my t-shirt over my head and struggling with my fly and I know that through the fog of lust, in the back of your mind you’re wondering about your anniversary present. There’s a strange fluttering worry in your chest that you’ve never had to give voice to before, and it’s whispering that maybe I forgot. Maybe you made this amazing dinner and set the table and lit the ‘company’ candles and all I have for you is lust.

Maybe, but you’d be wrong.

Because it’s back there burning a hole in the pocket of my jacket. It's the color of your eyes when you wake up in the morning. Not a diamond because you’re not a diamond kind of guy, and I’m praying you love it because it took me three hours in the shop to pick it out and I’m _pretty_ sure the owner was about to start yelling at me if I didn’t make a decision soon.

It’s funny that I’m nervous. I know your answer as sure as I know the feel of you in the dark when I reach for you after a bad dream. And now, when I slap my hand over the lightswitch in the bedroom, I know you’re going to turn it back on and whisper that I’m beautiful. That you want to see all of me. And I’ll let you, because you’re the only one who ever has.

It’s different from dancing. I’m showing you my soul.

“I love you, you know.” you whisper against the shell of my ear. The mattress bows under our weight as we flop onto it. I wrap your three braids gently around my hand, then let them drop. Twist them around again. Your eyes find mine and the smile you give me makes my chest feel tight.

___

For once, you’ve fallen asleep before me.

It’s raining outside. The drops land hard against the windowpane and I’m dimly aware that I should get up and close it the last few inches but you are a warm, heavy stone against me. You’re curled on your side with your head on my chest, one leg swung across my hips. I can feel your warm, even breaths blowing against my skin. Did you know how today would pan out, Raks? You always catch me by surprise, but today I wanted to be the one catching you.

The ring glints dimly on your hand that rests easily against my stomach, the stone catching the light from the window as you shift in your sleep. Turns out it’s also the same color as your eyes when they’re full of tears. I can’t stop smiling.

It’s raining harder now, but I’ll let the floor get a little bit wet.


End file.
